Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Daddy Don't Spank No More

One of my favorite memories of me and my dad is the first and last time my dad spanked me. I know that sounds weird but let me explain.

I was, am and always will be daddy’s little girl, or baby girl as he use to call me. I loved spending time with my dad, watching TV with my dad, wrestling with my dad, working on cars with my dad, pretty much anything that involved my dad I loved to do, even if things I'd never do it alone (like watching Star Trek). My dad has an engaging laugh, a magical hug, impressive cognitive abilities, ambitious vision, eclectic interest, etc... He never tried to force his interest on me but just shared himself and the things he liked to do. My dad was offered a job in Texas and that’s why we moved down there. In Texas I learned how to get along with others, and one way was to try my best not to stand out. Don’t be the best dressed, but don’t be the worst either. Don’t be the teacher’s pet, but don’t get any F’s or D’s. I never was treated badly for being different, but I did not want to test the boundaries seeing that my skin color stuck out like a sore thumb.

I was a pretty smart kid and I liked learning, but I was scared that being labeled as a nerd was social suicide. Whenever someone, especially a teacher, put me on a pedestal or on the spot I quickly adjusted so that I could blend in again. I noticed early on in my life that I have the ability to take interest in just about anything. One thing I love my dad for is that he did not label or expect specific things from me. He introduced me to everything and stood back as I observed and decided for my self whether or not I wanted to try it out. He gets a lot of the credit for my interest in chess, football, books, math and anything else that could be perceived harshly by my critics.

Still I was a normal kid who loved to play. I especially loved to ride my bike. When I was 6 years old we stayed in a small two bedroom apartment. I was supposed to bring my bike inside every time I finished riding it; I didn't know why at the time but I assume it was to keep it from getting stolen. For some reason I would forget and leave it outside anyway. One day my father came home from work and saw that I again left my bike outside after several corrections. He was so calm when he instructed me to go my room. He sat down on my bed and told me why he was upset with me and gave the world famous “this is going to hurt me more than you” speech. I remember clearly that my dad barely touched my bottom as he spanked me, but I cried anyway.

He left my room and closed the door behind him. While perched on my knees right by the door, the gravity of what had just happened sunk in and I screamed at the top of my lungs, “HE DOESN’T LOVE ME ANY MORE!. HE DOESN’T LOVE ME ANY MORE! HE DOESN’T LOVE ME ANY MORE!” As a kid I hardly ever cried; in fact my mother jokingly calls me ice queen. Today was different. I just kept repeating the “he doesn’t love me…” mantra until my voice gave out. At the time, I knew without a doubt that the spanking hurt my heart WAY more than it hurt his. Now of course I have a different perspective. I was a 6 years old daddy’s girl and believe; it was no coincidences that my father never spanked me again.

Fast forward to me at 9 years old with a C on my report card and teachers commenting that they believe that I’m not living up to my potential. (Question - How do teachers know that?) I'm in my bedroom with my dad as he explains that I'm on punishment is becuase he expects me to give my best. During these lectures I’d present a stone face, but my heart felt ripped my heart to shreds explaining to me how disappointed he was in me. All I could remember thinking was, “I wish he would just spank me.”